


Before The Storm

by Percygranger



Series: All Femslash, All The Time [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Femslash, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: Lydia makes breakfast, Allison is very distracting
Relationships: Allison Argent/Lydia Martin
Series: All Femslash, All The Time [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754929
Kudos: 20





	Before The Storm

“It’s looking bad out there,” Allison remarks. 

Lydia nods absently from her place at the old gas stove, watching the eggs cook: translucency turning opaque in the flame-heated pan. The sizzle of butter is a quiet counterpoint to their conversation.

“You can feel it in the air, right? The moist, heavy, expectant feeling?” 

Lydia looks up, and smirks, because Allison’s more-or-less naked in her chair by the window, hair in a messy bun, knees pulled up to her chest, which unfortunately obscures the view. Allison pulls a now-empty spoon out of her mouth, other hand holding a Nutella jar, and Lydia feels a surge of affection. “I can hear it, actually. The wind. And save some of that for the toast,” she mockingly scolds, but covers the two steps between them to wrap an arm around the bare shoulders, brushing a kiss across Allison’s forehead. Allison closes her eyes and leans into the touch. 

“Storm’s a-coming,” Allison intones, affecting a Southern accent. Lydia huffs, willing to be amused. They stand silently together for a minute, watching the clouds gather. “Your eggs look done.” Allison nods at the stovetop, and Lydia turns back to cooking. 

Lydia shakes the pan experimentally, testing their doneness. “Get some plates, please?” 

Allison gets up, and Lydia sneaks glances as she stretches to reach the dishes on the shelf, then just plain watches as she walks around to where the silverware is kept. Allison notices Lydia staring and grins, propping her arms on the counter, her hips a beckoning curve. 

“Plates,” Allison says, jutting her chin to the opposite side of Lydia, and Lydia starts, remembering her task. She slides the eggs out onto the rustic stoneware (not to her taste, but it matches the rest. One of the uncertainties of renting a house for a getaway), sets the pan down, extinguishes the burner, and turns back to find Allison doing a bit of ogling herself.

Allison approaches in a slow saunter that makes her hips sway, her steps making her breasts jiggle. “Now we can get that apron off, hmm?” And Lydia lets Allison’s clever fingers unfasten the tie around her waist. Allison pulls Lydia’s neck strap over and off, then runs a hand over the thin nightgown Lydia had chosen, resting it on her hip. Her expression is sly. “Time to eat?” 

“Yes,” Lydia replies breathlessly. 


End file.
